We Need the Storm
by Siren's Bell
Summary: "It is not light that we need, but fire; ...We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake." - Fredrick Douglass ;; Zuko x Azula. Rated for content. For porn battle @ dreamwidth.


Zuko has a sickness. He does not know when to stop. He likes things that are bad for him, which is why he does not dismiss her when she opens the door to his bedroom.

"What are you doing in here?" Zuko demands, and the pages of the scroll he's reading smolders.

Azula simply smiles and slinks into the room. Her sleeping robe is deep red, matches her ruby lips. "I wanted to welcome you home," she says, her voice like silk. Zuko shudders. That's a lie. Azula always lies.

He watches her, the way she glides across the floor, how her robe splits and reveals her thigh. It wasn't like that before, he thinks and he looks away when he realizes he's staring. "Thanks."

But Azula is not done. She moves closer, sits on his desk and crumples the papers. "Stop," he hisses and stands. Azula tilts her head and gives him a lazy smirk.

"That's not a proper welcome, Zuzu," she murmurs and she grabs him and pulls him close. Zuko must brace himself against the desk to keep from falling, arms on either side of her. Her robe falls open and he can see the tiniest peeks of the curves of her breasts. But he fixes his gaze on her frightfully similar eyes. She's trying to get a rise out of him. It's working.

"We stopped this a long time ago, Azula," he replies, and he tries to pull away. He will not look down. He will _not_. "Let me go. This isn't right."

Azula laughs and lets her hands fall. Zuko turns to leave. He's done with this.

"I wonder if it will be enough," she says idly as she crosses her legs and leans back.

Zuko stops. He knows he shouldn't listen. But her mouth is like a drug and he is high just from the words that fall from her serpent's tongue.

"I wonder if Dad liking you will be enough." She taps her chin. "I wonder if playing house with Mai will be enough."

"What are you talking about?"

"She's not me, you know." She laughs, pressing a delicate hand to her mouth.

Zuko's shoulders tense and he turns to look at her, brow furrowed.

"You and I both know you can't get enough of me. You'll come back. You always do." She leaned forward, her hair loose and hanging over her shoulders like dark curtains. "Poor little predictable Zuzu."

He grabs her wrist and jerks her toward him. "Stop calling me that."

"Make me." She slides across the desk as he pulls her toward him.

Zuko's eyes narrow. He knows where this is going. He knows what she is doing. And he falls for it every time.

_Poor predictable Zuzu._

He kisses her, pressing her hard against him. She returns the kiss with fervor.

"This is the last time," he whispers against her neck, voice hoarse.

She laughs dryly. "Whatever you say, Zuzu."

"I mean it." He frowns but reaches for the ties that hold her robe close.

"Of course you do." She smiles, always smiling and his frown deepens. He would do anything to get that smile off of her face. He kisses her without warning, but she is ready. Azula is always ready.

The robe slips past her shoulders and pooled around her waist. He presses a kiss to her throat and bites gently at the skin and "Oh Zuzu that's _so_ good."

He doesn't want to like how she murmurs his name, low like a purr. He doesn't want to dwell on how she clings to him as he slides into her and her back arches. She brands his back in long streaks with sharp nails and Zuko doesn't want to think about how it'll probably hurt for days.

He did not have to dwell on it for long. It's impossible to think when he is coming undone so quickly. Azula's head tilts back and Zuko can feel flames cutting through the air, dangerously close by his head. And just like that, it is done and Azula rests her cheek against his shoulder.

"We can't stay like this," He says and pulls away from her.

Azula reties her robe and adjusts her hair and is leaving.

"Where are you going?" She pauses mid-step. She knows that tone and turns to look at Zuko. He's settling on the bed and watching her expectantly. "I want a proper welcome home."

She grins and happily joins him. Later, as she lay curled up against him, arm draped possessively over his torso, Zuko is wide awake and staring the ceiling. He knows he is ill. He knows, because surely loving Azula this way – or at all – was fatal.

Zuko has a sickness.

And her name is Azula.


End file.
